29. Chapter 29

Chapter twenty-nine

Robert bellied up to a table at White's, unable to stand the silence of his home anymore. He came in the hopes of being distracted, but the crowd of men only made him realize he didn't want just any company.

He wanted Louisa's.

For the sake of appearances, Robert decided to stay long enough for one drink before retreating to his tomb. The one where dead memories of love clung to the walls.

He worried that nowhere would ever feel whole again.

The server placed a finger of brandy in front of him, then bowed and left him alone. Though alone was not the word Robert would have used. Yes, no one deigned to come near him, likely from the frustrated scowl he wore, but the room was filled with men's voices and booming laughs. He wasn't sure which was worse—the aching quiet of his home . . . or this.

He wiped a drop of brandy from his lip, and thoughts of his last night with Louisa surfaced again. That memory had played in his mind nearly every hour of every day since she had left. The last moment of happiness he had before everything was stripped away. Had it been worth tearing his walls down? He had never felt so exposed to the feelings of life, not since his childhood—before he had erected those very walls that had protected him.

A boisterous laugh burst forth near the bar. Robert glanced over, and there stood Lord Griffith, laughing and enjoying a glass of port with a group of men. Robert was glad for his lucid state, for if this was his third glass instead of his first, he would have been tempted to take the man by the front of his shirt and toss him across the room. As a gentleman, Griffith knew better than to have meetings with Jessica. And if he was willing to do that, what other things was the man doing under the blanket of secrecy?

Just then, Robert saw Griffith slide money across the counter to Lord Lambert, tipping his face down to hide his mouth as he spoke.

It wasn't strange to place bets amongst gentlemen, but the quizzical brow of Lord Lambert had Robert intrigued.

Perhaps it would be better to cut his losses and go home. But now, every room there reminded him of Louisa. His sleeping quarters where they shared a door. The Lavender Room where they discussed, planned, and oversaw the renovations. The kitchen where he had followed her like a puppy after first deciding to change their relationship. And, of course, his library, where they had kissed and fallen asleep together until the early whispering light of morning.

Perhaps he should have been the one to leave after all.

The next morning, Robert made a conscious decision to keep Louisa from his thoughts. He could not make the choice for her, and he needed to let go of the illusion of control—something both he and Louisa struggled to realize.

They could not control everything in life.

Striding to the dining room, he made every effort to continue with that premise in the front of his thoughts. But when he sat, and Brooks handed him the paper, he didn't have to try and forget his problems with Louisa—for there on the front page was an article titled Peers turned Pugilists .

His nerves flared to high alert, blood coursing through his ears and heart pounding in his chest. How was this possible? They had been so careful to keep things secret.

A voice whispered into his thoughts. Was it his fault? Did he and Louisa make it too obvious in their attempts to make it home the other day? It wasn't as if it could have been helped, but no matter what he thought, he still doubted that their questions and presence could have been enough to uncover their secret. But then how else?

He scanned the contents of the article where the author listed names of peers they speculated were involved. Including his own.

Robert gently laid the paper down, closing his eyes. He had lost Louisa, and now the one other thing in his life that brought him a sense of individuality was crushed before his very eyes. They were not even supposed to have matches within city limits, so a summons from Prinny was likely in order. He would have to sit there and receive a tongue lashing as to how a peer, a duke no less, should behave. Not to mention the attention this would draw to himself. If he so much as walked out his front door, reporters and busybodies would be huddled about, waiting to barrage him with questions and gossip.

Nothing sounded worse. But if Louisa were here, then it would be more bearable. She would straighten her shoulders, look them dead in the eye, and laugh it off, not giving it a second thought. She would protect him from the unwanted attention—hold his hand when his fingers could not be still.

She would be his walls for him.

Robert needed to speak with someone, and before he could question the wisdom of it, his feet were moving toward the servants' entrance. He was hoping to avoid as many eyes as possible.

As his carriage rambled along the rear drive, he caught sight of a crowd outside the main gate of his sister's townhouse. His insides lurched. While he had avoided the nosey nellies this time, he would eventually be confronted with the whole mess. Likely sooner than later.

And sooner it was.

As Robert's carriage approached Jessica's townhouse, he was frustrated to see three men pacing outside the door on the street. Luckily, Gulliver was good at his job and passed by the house, taking a turn at the corner and heading down the back alley where he could enter more discreetly, even going as far as escorting Robert inside in case someone should appear unexpectedly.

They slipped through the servants' entrance, but instead of the quiet Robert expected, he heard voices. One which was distinctly male.

He made to grab the door handle and leave, but his ears caught on a snippet of the conversation.

"You nitwit. Couldn't control your gambling?"

Curiosity got the better of him, and Robert waited for the man to respond.

"I can stop whenever I wish. But I have no desire to, and I will not let some prissy little girl think she is lord of my actions."

Robert's ears perked up, recognizing the voice but unable to place it. Anger burned beneath his skin that a man deigned to speak to a member of his family like that. Or any woman, for that matter. Robert's feet propelled him down the hall before he could think better of it. The voice had clicked in his mind. It was Griffith. Their voices grew louder as he neared the room.

"Please," Jessica said, a mocking tone coloring her voice. "You need me. I know you have debts, and I am your saving grace. Is that not why you came by today?"

Robert followed the voices until he entered the drawing room, where both Jessica and Griffith spun about upon his arrival.

Griffith's face had been set when Robert entered, but once he made out Robert's form in the doorway, Griffith's eyes widened and the red in his cheeks drained.

"Robert," Jessica gasped. "Whatever are you doing here? Have you not heard of a calling card?"

Robert's chest heaved as he stared Griffith down. The man's skin had paled noticeably upon seeing him. "I thought it unnecessary. But what about Griffith? Did he send a card? I did not see one on the entry table." Nor had Robert even looked. But based upon the impropriety of the situation, he was quite sure there would not be one.

"I was only checking in to see how Lady Jessica fared amongst the rumors. I assumed her connection to you would bring about reporters. And I wasn't wrong." He gestured toward the street, hidden by walls and drapes pulled across the windows.

"And why would you feel it necessary? Why not let me, her brother , handle it?" Robert clenched his fist, very much wanting to throw it into Griffith's face.

"I . . ."

"He needs money," Jessica said matter-of-factly.

Griffith's eyes darted toward her, his jaw hardening. "Keep your mouth shut, Jessica."

"Excuse me," Robert all but growled. "You may not refer to my sister so informally, nor shall you speak to her with such harsh words."

Griffith threw his head back with a laugh. "Me, harsh? The woman is a slave driver."

Jessica rolled her eyes, leaning her forearms on the back of a chair. "You are so dramatic, Griffith. Can you not handle a woman having a mind of her own?"

"That I can handle. But your manipulation—"

"Manipulation?" She smiled as she said the word. "Is that not what your intentions were with me?" She walked around the chair, her steps slow and intentional. "You need money, but you shall have to find it somewhere else."

Robert glanced between the two of them. "Can someone please explain to me what is happening here?"

"You do not know?" She glanced over at Griffith, her smile and eyes that of a woman who had lost all respect for a man. In fact, she had a begrudging look of pity in her eyes and in the set of her mouth. "He is the reason your boxing ring was found out. He has been placing bets on the matches, trying to make up for his other losses."

"Be quiet, I said!" Griffith yelled, spinning on her.

Robert had him by the lapels in a flash, backing him up to the mantle. "If you raise your voice at my sister again, I will make sure you are unable to force words beyond your lips. Do you understand me?"

Griffith gave a reluctant nod, skittering back once Robert released him.

"Why would you do something so stupid, Griffith?" he spat, chest heaving. "Surely you knew word would get out."

Griffith rubbed his thumb over his lip as he looked to the floor and sighed. "Because I have debts. It seemed an easy way to make up for my loss of funds."

"Gambling to make money." Robert shook his head. "That is idiotic."

"Oh, do shut up, Boroux." He rolled his head toward him. "Not all of us can live in luxury with an endless supply of funds at our fingertips."

"I would never do something so careless!" Robert couldn't believe he had once called this man a friend.

"Enough," Jessica said, shaking her head. "I suggest you leave, Robert."

"Me? What about him?" He flung a hand at Griffith.

She shook her head, seemingly disgusted. "I can handle him."

A thought sprang into his mind, and nausea filled his stomach. "Jessica, are you and Griffith . . .?" Robert's eyes flew to him. "Are you sleep—"

"No, of course not," she said with a grimace.

Griffith let out a bitter laugh as he rolled his eyes. "I had not realized a widow would be such a prude."

And then Robert had the honor of feeling Griffith's nose crunch beneath his fist.